XXVI.

And Morton now, and Nial by his side, In peril’s front the impetuous stormers lead; Nor less their beauty nor their valour’s pride Than his whose doom was first that day to bleed. In generous rivalry, like mettled steed, They strain to win the breach, their grisly goal. Their flashing swords, athirst for Glory’s meed, Their tossing plumes, the advancing crowd controul,-- And daring like to their’s inspires each warrior soul.